Burning up a sun to say
by huntedwitch
Summary: There was a second part to that sentence, he reminded himself. Just thinking about it caused havoc to his new body. Sweaty palms, heavy eyes, dry mouth, and some sort of ache between his head, chest, and stomach. Were human bodies always this catastrophic?


There was a second part to that sentence, he reminded himself. While he played with the touch of the tips of his fingers against his thumb, as he would always do from that point forward when the sandy-like feeling took over the hand that had given him form, he remembered. And, just like the first time, just like every time, his once Time Lord and now very human stomach fluttered.

Just thinking about it caused havoc to his new body. Sweaty palms, heavy eyes, dry mouth, and some sort of ache between his head, chest, and stomach. Were human bodies always this catastrophic? It'd be a pain to get used to that kind of system and he wondered how every one of his companions, all gathered there to save the universes in one surely epic alliance, could take it and still function. At least, he hoped his guess was correct; the last thing he wanted was for the only heart he had left to go haywire on him.

Having Rose there brought so many excruciating flashbacks. Especially of what he couldn't say. Not because he ran out of time. Not because Rose had taken too long to say it herself. But because he was so utterly and intrinsically frightened, he had stretched it too far and, in the end, got what he deserved for being a coward.

Once more, they appeared on that damned beach in Norway. He understood right away, and he played his cards. When Rose touched his suit, felt his one human heart, he expected it to tickle. Instead, the press of her fingers took his breath away, and he did as much as he could to keep her from noticing it.

"And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?"

There it was. The chance of a lifetime, not one tiny bit less. The chance to spend the rest of his life with his Rose. He wanted to take it, he wanted to hold her hand, pick her up, and run. But it wasn't his choice. It was hers. It should've always been hers.

She gave him a shot. Judging by the looks of it, though, she wasn't expecting much better than what his counterpart had said, despite her more-than-clear frustration, all perfectly reflected on how her hand had clenched into a fist with the entire intention to slam it against his other self's stomach. The very one he could swear had been fluttering when that same chance was presented to him, and how it had already disappeared by now.

He leant towards her, slow and yet too fast — no, don't scare her off. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. She accepted his gesture and stood still as he reached for her ear, one blink at a time. He was so scared, so humanly scared, he felt his stomach would burst and eat his voice altogether. Every symptom came back, and this time with an agenda that involved physically disabling him until he turned into blubbery mush, dissolving into the sand. His lips almost touched her ear. Her hair warmed up his face so much he could swear even his ears were blushing.

He couldn't bring himself to say anything, at first. He knew those words, he knew them so, so well — he had practiced them, after all, as the TARDIS fueled up with the burning supernova, convincing himself it was the last time, as impossible to take in as that was. It had better be a decent good-bye, a worthwhile one. He would say, "I'm burning up a sun just to say good-bye. Rose Tyler…"

It was like that horrid last time had burnt within him as well, sealing up the continuation of that phrase. He stood there, leaning, mouth open, nothing but air coming out. The fear of it all literally fading away again froze his one heart. But Rose waited. She listened to his stuttery breath, and still waited. Didn't move, didn't hurry him, didn't even look at him. Because — and that's when he realized — they _both_ were waiting for it, and wanted it to happen. Six years, it had been for her. Six years, thinking they would never cross paths again, thinking about those bloody words left unsaid, thinking everyday that maybe she wasn't entirely certain about his feelings, and she would never be. She had opened her heart because she had also known it would be the last time. She had had a lotta bottle to say what he hadn't been able to, she had gotten over her pride and stubbornness in a way he couldn't.

And she was worth it. Oh, so worth it. His own hands, clenched without his permission, got a little loose, and the knot inside his belly twisted even further. His lungs let go.

"…I burnt up a sun just to say I love you."

He slowly straightened up and tried to catch her eyes as soon as he parted from her ear. Shields were down, stances dropped, leaving him and his one heart out in the open, for her. And he didn't care if she saw it in his eyes, for he wanted— needed to know how she'd take it. Her feelings for him hadn't gone, as far as he could tell, but, then again, it had been six years. Maybe it was too much, too late. Hopefully, it wasn't, but it could be for her. And if it was, he'd take it.

But she stared at him, as well, and for a moment too fast for him to tell if she was jaw-dropping as a good or a bad sign. There was something in her eyes, something he saw when Donna told him to turn around and met her on the opposite side of the street. He didn't have another instant, since he saw her hand and hoped— begged for what he felt was coming. She pulled him, confidently, desperately, to her kiss, and his eyes closed as the fluttering inside his stomach expanded in one big explosion to the rest of his human body.

Oh, that kiss — he had touched her lips before, but it hadn't been her. And now, just, _wow_. He swore he could feel the knot inside her throat while she held a crying back. And he found it beautiful. Rose pulled him even closer with her arms around his shoulders, and he replied by pulling her from her waist and back to meet his entire body.

The TARDIS' whirring broke it off, scaring Rose out of the kiss. She parted from him and ran to the vanishing ship. While scared that she could try to grab on and leave him there, he seized that time to lick his lips and catch his breath. Rose stopped. And the ship went away.

It hurt to see her leave, maybe a lot more than he could possibly understand. The Doctor walked to her and offered her what she had to him, from the very start — a hand to hold. Hopefully, she'd understand what that entitled, 'cause he didn't have enough brain cells functioning to explain it himself. Odd, since he normally couldn't shut up for his life.

Rose looked up at him, her eyes now clearly sad, scared, confused, and yet he could see it in them that she was gripping his hand as well.


End file.
